The Niece of Dr Watson
by CarpeDiemForLife
Summary: A strange girl is following Sherlock and John through the streets of London. But who is she? What does she want? When the flatmates take her in, life becomes even more interesting for all of them. Not slash.
1. Chapter 1

"John, do us a favor will you?"

"Us?"

"Go tell the woman following us to stop."

John Watson stopped in his tracks, turning to his friend in surprise.

"The _what_?"

Now Sherlock Holmes peered at the shorter man, seeming surprised himself.

"You didn't notice her, John?" John was dumbstruck.

"No... no of _course_ I didn't. Are you sure there's someone following us?" The answer was clear in the look that Sherlock shot him.

"Alright then... Who exactly is it that's following us?"

"Young woman in a white jacket, a couple blocks back."

"A couple-!" John turned about, looking hard for the woman that Sherlock had described. Finally he spotted her. Several blocks behind them.

"How on earth did you notice?" he cried. Sherlock said nothing, merely gave him another look. "Alright alright, but are you sure? I don't want to harass some poor innocent girl."

"Of _course_ I'm sure," replied Sherlock condescendingly. Had John been less mature than he was, he might have blown a raspberry at the haughty man. As it was, he merely pursed his lips and turned around, walking back to meet the woman.

When he and she had bridged the distance between them, John saw that she was in fact very young. Late teens, early twenties perhaps. The woman did not seem at all surprised that John approached her in the way that he did.

"Uh, excuse me," he began, attempting to be polite. "My friend has noticed you following us and has asked that you please stop."

The girl rolled her eyes and scoffed a bit, though by her small smile it was clear that she was in good spirits.

"Of course he noticed. He's Sherlock Holmes, not some dull idiot."

At this, John looked away in aggravation. Didn't he get enough of this type of abuse from Sherlock? Now some random girl in the street was calling him names?

With a start, the girl qualified herself.

"Not to say that you're an idiot if you didn't notice me. Sorry, that's not at all what I meant. It's just that he's Sherlock Holmes."

"I know he's Sherlock Holmes," replied John, still mildly annoyed, "How do _you_ know that?"

The girl smiled at him.

"I'd like to meet him," she said simply. John's eyebrows rose slightly at her blunt request. Well honestly, it sounded more like a command than a request.

"Uh, no," said John after a moment. "That is... out of the question."

"Why?"

"Because I know nothing about you except that you somehow know Sherlock Holmes and you're following us. Not exactly much to go on."

"Tell me Doctor..." she said, a teasing glint in her eyes, "Do I pose any threat? Do I have any weapons on me?"

"How do you know that I'm a doctor?" asked John stiffly.

"You think that I could know who Sherlock Holmes is and not know who Dr. John Watson is? Please. Just answer the question Doctor." John shifted uncomfortably and gazed at her up and down, though he'd already observed her quite enough to know the answer.

"No."

"No," she repeated with a smile. Her tone was friendly, not at all snotty or rude.

_Well that's only _one_ point in her favor_, thought John. Suddenly a beep sounded in John's pocket. Pulling out his phone, John pulled up his new text.

The sun is sinking. Send her away, come on.

SH

"Is that him?" asked the girl excitedly. "What's he say?" John looked at her sharply, feeling very uncomfortable with her adamant interest in his best friend.

"Sorry, but that's none of your business," he replied bluntly. Still smiling kindly, the girl shrugged.

"Well alright. But I'm not going to leave, so you may as well go back to him. I'll stay back here, it's fine. Although it is a bit rude of you."

"A bit rude of me?" repeated John, forcing himself to keep his voice calm, despite the incredulity that he truly felt. "And how do you figure that?"

"Well you know that I'm following you, so it would really be _much_ more polite to invite me to walk with you."

John was so stunned by her reasoning that his jaw dropped open a bit as though he were about to speak, but no words came out. Shaking his head slightly, John quickly turned on his heel and walked away, back to Sherlock.

"You didn't send her away," Sherlock said immediately. "I told you to send her away."

"She won't!" exclaimed John in frustration. "She refused to go."

Sherlock's brow crinkled in his look of confusion and he turned to gaze at the girl who had come to a standstill a block or so away.

"Why?" he slowly murmured aloud.

"Well you can't honestly be that surprised," said John. "She's following us. Why would she stop just because you ask her to?"

"Most people would feel uncomfortable after being discovered and would abandon whatever they were doing," stated Sherlock, "So why is she not?"

"Well she didn't seem surprised at all that you noticed her," offered John, "She expected it in fact. She obviously doesn't care that you know."

After a moment Sherlock tore his eyes away from the puzzling young woman and began to walk once more, keeping his silence. John thought about inquiring into Sherlock's own thoughts, but he refrained. More often than not it was a better idea just to let Sherlock mull through things on his own.

_**Please review, I really do appreciate it and find it very helpful. I hope you enjoyed it! Or are at least interested enough to keep reading. Thanks!**_


	2. Chapter 2

"Sherlock, why've you stopped?"

"I want to talk to her."

"No, Sherlock, that is... a bad idea."

"She hardly looks dangerous."

"You shouldn't underestimate people so much."

"And you shouldn't be so paranoid. Honestly John, how do you get by day to day?" John narrowed his eyes ever so slightly at his companion, but he turned in the direction of the strange girl, waiting as well.

"Why hello," she greeted as she stopped in front of them.

"Who are you and what do you want?" asked Sherlock immediately.

"Well it wouldn't really be very fun if I told you that right off the bat, now would it."

"Why do you say that?" he asked curiously.

"Because. It's a puzzle. A simple one, but a puzzle nonetheless. Wouldn't you much rather figure it out by yourself?" Sherlock's mouth curled up the tiniest bit at this.

"A name then. Give me your name." The girl smiled brightly.

"Gwyneth, but everyone calls me Gwen."

"Why are you following us?" Gwen raised her eyebrows and her smile remained constant, but she did not respond to him.

"How long do you intend on following us?" asked Sherlock instead.

"Until something exciting happens," Gwen replied. "Well... at the very least. Perhaps longer," she amended. Sherlock turned to his companion, keeping his face clear of his thoughts and feelings.

"Well John, what do you think? Shall we let her stay?" John gave a start.

"Wha- No! No, absolutely not."

"What are you going to do, take me to the police?" she asked sarcastically.

"Well, yes, I might do just that as a matter of fact," John responded defensively. What was it about this girl that managed to prickle him so much? It was ridiculous!

At this moment, a loud ringing emanated from Sherlock's coat pocket. Without even looking away from John and Gwen- the former looking as aggravated as the latter looked amused- Sherlock pulled out his mobile and accepted the call.

"What is it?... We don't stay inside all day Lestrade, don't be stupid... Fantastic! We're just a few blocks away... Of course. We'll be right over."

Putting his phone back into his jacket, Sherlock turned to the doctor, his blue eyes shining with expectant excitement.

"We've got a case John! Another murder, isn't it fantastic? It's been _weeks_! Oh finally. Come on!" Without waiting for a response, Sherlock took off running. John was not far behind him, and the girl whom they had both forgotten in the rush of the moment was not far behind _him_, and she was as excited as they.

"Where are we going?" cried John. "Why aren't we calling a cab?"

"We're only a few blocks away John! This will be much quicker."

The trio ran a block down and took a sharp right onto another street. Down the street a little ways, they saw the telltale sign of yellow caution tape, police cars, and flashing lights. About a block away, Sherlock stopped his run and settled into a calm walk, straightening his long dark coat and blue scarf. John fell into step right beside the consulting detective.

"Oh hello Freak," greeted Sergeant Donovan, "Bet you fair ran your way over here, that's how excited you were."

"Good to see you Sally," returned Sherlock, stepping under the caution tape and holding it up for John to pass under as well. It was then that Gwen stepped forward, intent on coming through also.

"Oi, hold on a minute, who is this?" interjected Sally, blocking Gwen's way.

"I'm Dr. Watson's niece," she told the sergeant, not missing a beat. John's eyes narrowed and his jaw dropped at the blatant lie. He was about to speak out against it when Sherlock pressed a gentle hand against his arm. Glancing up at Sherlock quickly, John saw his friend watching the girl with apparent interest. Biting his tongue, John shut up and watched the show, though he didn't like it at all. Luckily, Sherlock and John were standing behind Sergeant Donovan's backside, so she had witnessed none of this. Gwen must have, but no sign of it showed on her face. In fact...

A look of worry and fear came across Gwen's face that made her look younger than she had before. "I couldn't possibly stay at the house alone while this is going on, I'd be much too frightened! Please let me stay with my uncle. I won't get in the way, I swear!"

Sally narrowed her eyes slightly at the younger girl, but she felt unsure.

"This is a murder," she pointed out. "I'm fairly certain that whatever you might see here will be ten times scarier than being at your house."

"Oh no, what scares me is being alone. I know I'm safe if I'm with Uncle John." Sally still had not moved from her path, seeming to be rather out of her depth with this new problem.

"Oh for goodness sake," said Sherlock sharply, "let her through. You lot need John and I, and his niece is part of the bargain for today. Get out of the way. You know that Lestrade will back me up."

The increased pressure on his arm kept John from showing any of his incredulous reaction on his face. Sally glared at 'the Freak' and finally stepped aside. Sherlock held the tape up for Gwen and she passed through it, a shaky smile on her face, as if she were nervous or felt bad for being an inconvenience. Sherlock highly doubted that either was true.

_Not a bad act..._ thought Sherlock appreciatively. Spinning on his heel, Sherlock strolled powerfully into the building, John and his 'niece' following close behind.

"So!" Sherlock said loudly, "What have you got for me today?"


	3. Chapter 3

"No," he said once more.

"John..." she replied, "you're making this much more difficult than it needs to be."

"Don't call me John," he said fiercely. "It's Dr. Watson." Gwen ignored him.

"Come on, I won't ever be a bother."

"We don't know you!"

"As I hear it, you two didn't know each other when you became flat mates."

John shifted uncomfortably at this unfortunately true statement. Currently, John was standing inside the door of his flat while the persistent girl Gwen was standing just outside it, her foot in the door. For some ridiculous reason, this girl thought it was a sensible request that Sherlock and John let her live with them. Sherlock was of course being no help, as he had immediately plopped himself down on the couch upon returning. Therefore, John was left to deal with the nutter.

"The answer is no," John repeated firmly.

"Sally thinks I'm your niece," pointed out Gwen. "What will she think if she finds out that I'm not actually staying with you?"

"First of all, it's Sergeant Donovan, not Sally. Second of all you _aren't_ my niece, so it might very well clear up some confusion that you've caused."

"Yes, but then you and Sherlock would get in trouble, wouldn't you? Is it really worth it?" John clenched his teeth together, feeling trapped and searching for any way out of the situation.

"Come on, Uncle John," said Gwen teasingly, "Just let me in. Then we can talk through things."

Though her name for him rather put him off, John controlled his annoyance and finally opened the door a crack, just enough for Gwen to slide through. As soon as she did, still smiling as friendly as ever, John shut the door.

"Don't look so innocent," he muttered.

"Can we talk now?" she asked. John gave her a curt nod, giving her a look that meant that there was clearly no way to change his mind, but he would still stand there and watch her try. "Here's the deal I'm willing to offer. If you don't let me stay with me, I'll go away and never come back. You'll never hear from me again, I swear."

This girl simply continued to shock John more and more. Did she even understand the concept of bargaining? She'd just offered him the best deal she could have possibly made!

"Fine! Right... good. Do that then," agreed John calmly. John began to move away, done with the whole affair, when he realized that Gwen hadn't moved, just smiling at him knowingly.

"What?" he asked cautiously.

"You can sleep on the couch." John spun towards his flat mate, who had finally decided to join in the conversation. Gwen smiled brightly.

"Merci monsieur," Gwen said gratefully, yet with a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Sherlock, no. No, absolutely not. You are _not_ letting her stay here."

"I'm bored."

"You _can't_ be serious!" cried John. "We know nothing about her! We can't just let her stay with us."

"Dr. Watson..." John turned to Gwen, surprised that she was now addressing him politely. Looking at her, he saw that her self-assured smile was gone. Now she seemed more serious, more sincere.

"I know this doesn't look good," she said, "and I know that I'm intruding on your lives. I can understand why you don't trust me, or like me at all, but please give me a chance. I'm sorry for the actions I've had to take. There wasn't much else I could do. Let's start again?"

Gwen walked over to John and extended her hand.

"Hi, I'm Gwen. It's nice to meet you."

Though John still felt uncomfortable with the whole thing, he felt even more uncomfortable just watching her stand there with her hand out. So he did the sensible thing and took her hand in his own. Her handshake was gentle, not strong as if she were trying to prove a point.

"John Watson."

"Don't you mean _Dr._ John Watson?" she asked him with a joking, but kind, smile. John smiled reluctantly and released her hand.

"Well..." he said finally, "I suppose I've been outvoted. You should probably go collect whatever things you need to live on."

Nodding, Gwen turned and made her way to the door. She turned one last time to face the room and its occupants.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "I'll be back soon. Bye Sherlock. Bye Dr. Watson."

As soon as she was out the door and down the stairs, John turned on his flat mate. Sherlock met his eyes calmly.

"You had better know something about her that I don't," threatened John. "That's the only reason I'm agreeing to this. You _do _know something about her that proves she's not a threat to us, don't you?"

"Oh absolutely." Silence.

"And that would be...?"

"She's in love with us." Silence again.

"Pardon?"

"She's in love with us-"

"Yes, I heard you the first time, I just don't understand why you're saying that."

"Well isn't it _obvious_ John?" exclaimed Sherlock as he leapt up from the couch.

"Well, her interest in us is obvious, but I wouldn't say that she's in _love_ with either of us, and I've certainly seen nothing to indicate that she isn't a threat. I mean... she could be working for... you know who," said John cautiously. Sherlock merely scoffed.

"Of course she isn't. She's in love with us, like I said."

"Feel free to explain yourself at any time Sherlock," said John dully. Sherlock pursed his lips and rolled his eyes a bit.

"She's obviously young, not yet twenty, older than seventeen. The school year just ended so- she's probably just graduated from sixth form. So what does she do with her summer after her last year of secondary school? She doesn't spend time with friends or prepare for uni- no, she's here, following us. She knows who we are, obviously seen my website _and_ read your blog," Sherlock explained, "Then, when Sally asked who she was, she claims to be your relative. So she has picked a role that is very close to you. She didn't claim to be a friend, assistant, or student- no, she decided to be your niece. That implies a level of intimacy, so most likely one that she wants. She has studied us enough to know exactly how best to get what she wants-"

"How do you figure?" interjected John. Sherlock looked at him expectantly.

"Oh come on John! The first thing she does when she meets us is to make herself a puzzle, not revealing her identity or motivations. Right up our alley. Then when trying to get us to accept her into our flat, she threatens to disappear forever if we turn her away."

"And why didn't we do that again?"

"Because then I'll never solve the puzzle!" exclaimed Sherlock. "And she knew that. She knew that I wouldn't let her go without having time to unravel the mysteries behind her." John sighed at his friend.

"Seriously? Sherlock... We should have just kicked her out. That all sounds like guesswork to me. You don't have any solid evidence."

"Well that's just it!" said Sherlock, obviously thinking that his friend was taking much too long to understand something that should be clear. "She has intentionally not given me enough information to understand her. I've managed to piece together only that small bit, not nearly what I would normally be able to tell about a person. So I _need_ her to stay. So that I can figure her out. Then I'll be bored again, and you can make her leave, I don't care."

"I still don't see how you came to the conclusion that she's in love with us," pressed John, "Infatuated perhaps, but-" Sherlock looked at him sharply, seeming confused.

"Well isn't that the same thing?" John did a double-take at the younger man.

"N-... No, of course it isn't the same thing!"

"Oh..." John shook his head at the 'high-functioning sociopath'. Did he truly not understand that there was a difference between infatuation and love?

"Well so is Moriarty, and you can't say that he isn't a threat," said John forcefully. Sherlock sprawled out on the couch and turned his face towards the ceiling, pressing his fingers together.

"Her interest isn't the same... Moriarty's infatuation with me is sick- it's the kind of infatuation that makes him want to destroy us, and he'll have fun doing it. Gwen... her infatuation is more out of fascination and adoration. I promise you that John."

"You better be bloody positive Sherlock..." John muttered dangerously.


	4. Chapter 4

Gwen entered the room again only hours later, to find that John was now sitting at his desk and typing up a blog post, while Sherlock had not moved from his spot on the couch. This time Gwen came in dragging one small suitcase with her.

"Is that all of your things?" asked John in surprise.

"Yes," she affirmed.

"Why do you have a bad relationship with your parents?" Sherlock asked, his dark eyes focused intently on the girl.

"Why do you say that?" she asked. Interestingly enough, Gwen seemed to be more curious than defensive, like most people tended to be when Sherlock said such things.

"Your clothes and your suitcase," said Sherlock simply. Gwen cocked her head, obviously waiting for more of an explanation. Sherlock slowly rose to a sitting position.

"Your clothes- very nice, obviously expensive, but your shirt is just a bit too large which means that it was likely a gift. Add that to your age, and that means wealthy parents. The fancy jewelry means they are not only wealthy parents but wealthy parents who are willing to spoil you. Yet when you come to live in a small flat for an undetermined amount of time, you bring a very small suitcase. So, why would a young rich girl not bring plenty of clothes and accessories? Because she does not get on with her parents and so does not want to rely on them or owe them for anything."

John was stunned and he looked intently at Gwen, wondering how much of what Sherlock said was true, and how she would react.

"Incredible," said Gwen softly. John's eyebrows rose slightly. This girl sounded rather like... well rather like John himself did when Sherlock was being his normal, brilliant self. "That was incredible. All very true of course."

"So why do you have a bad relationship with your parents?"

"Oh I'm sure you'll figure that out as well," teased Gwen gently, "Eventually."

In the weeks that followed, life at 221B Baker Street became a bit different but- true to her word- Gwen did not get in the way much. While it was strange to have an extra body in the apartment, Gwen generally remained quiet and allowed Sherlock and John to go about their business as usual.

Mrs. Hudson was rather flustered by the fact that such a "sweet, young girl" was sleeping on the couch, but Gwen managed to smooth things out. John almost felt bad himself that she was sleeping there, but he forced himself not to care. He still didn't trust her after all. And _she _had been the one that forced herself on them, not the other way around.

Still, John wondered what she hoped to get out of it. He tried to learn more about her, watching her and hoping that perhaps just once he would see things the way that Sherlock did. Perhaps the styling of her hair would tell something about the size of her family, or her nail polish would signify her grades in school.

But no such luck. John had no 'Sherlock' epiphanies, though he truly did his best to observe her as best he could without talking to her.

Every morning when John woke up, he would come down the stairs to find Gwen already awake, dressed, showered, and generally making herself breakfast. Gwen was always very polite and would say good morning, but that was as much contact as she initiated. John found himself sometimes watching her from across the room, peering out from behind his newspaper to observe her typing away on her computer.

That's what she did almost all the time. Anytime that John saw her during the day, she was sitting there on her computer.

"Don't you need to get a job or something?" he asked one day. Gwen looked up at him blankly. "To support yourself I mean. We aren't paying for your food, so don't you need a job to cover those expenses?"

"This _is_ my job," she said simply, referring to whatever it was that she was doing on the computer. John left it at that and went to his own job at the hospital.

One night, Gwen lay awake on the couch, staring up at the ceiling in thought. The hour was late, and Sherlock and John had already retired, and yet for some reason... Gwen could not sleep. That happened rather frequently as a matter of fact.

Then, through the curtains drawn over the window, Gwen saw the light of a car on the street below. But unlike most car lights, this one did not go away as it passed by. Gwen heard the engine of the car turn off and she quickly jumped off the couch and looked down out the window.

Police car. And judging by the hour, it was something important.

A sound from behind her startled the girl, and she spun around to see Sherlock entering the kitchen.

"Sherlock-" she exclaimed excitedly.

"A case, I know," he said, holding up his phone as explanation. Sherlock was clearly as excited as she. "Go wake John." Nodding, Gwen ran across the floor and up the stairs, coming to a halt outside John's bedroom door.

Strangely enough, Gwen found that she was nervous to cross the threshold. It felt like intruding somehow. A bedroom was so personal, and John obviously liked his personal space. What would he think of her coming in? He would probably hate her more than ever.

Gwen didn't want that.

Seeing no other choice, Gwen softly pushed the door open and padded across the floor to the side of John's bed. Lying there on his side, John looked as calm and composed as ever, even in his sleep. No sound came from his lips and he did not move about at all. He looked entirely at peace.

_Please God don't let him have a gun within reach_... she thought, trying to amuse herself, though her fingers were trembling as she reached out to wake him.

"John," she whispered first. No response. Hesitantly, Gwen reached the rest of the way and gently shook his shoulder once. "John." That's all it took.

John's eyes shot open, immediately awake, and he was up and out of his bed in a flash. Grabbing hold of her arms, John's body was pressed up against Gwen's, and his eyes stared dangerously at her. Finding herself speechless, Gwen merely stared back at him, her blue eyes open larger than would be normal.

After a moment, John seemed to process who it was and his eyes opened wide in surprise. Her arms being released suddenly, Gwen stumbled back a bit, trying to calm her breathing and raging heartbeat. She wasn't entirely sure if her accelerated heartbeat was due to the fear that she had felt, or the feeling of being pressed close against his body in that way, especially in the current situation: alone in his dark bedroom, she in her pajamas and he in just a t-shirt and boxers.

Either way, Gwen managed to quickly regain control as John took a moment to clear his head.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" he asked after a moment, his voice strained. "I could have killed you."

"There's a case," she explained. Gwen took a moment to think how grateful she was that all the training she'd gone through had prepared her for such a time: none of her emotions were evident in her voice. As it should be. "Sherlock told me to wake you."

"That dolt..." Gwen thought she heard him mutter. Sighing, John turned back to Gwen.

"Yes, alright, I'll be right down. I'm just going to... pull on some trousers."

Gwen nodded and left his room, rushing back down the stairs- half because she wanted to find out what was going on, and half because she simply wanted to escape from the awkward situation.


	5. Chapter 5

Another week flew by. The late night case had been Sherlock's last case, and after solving it in two days, Sherlock was itching for another.

Over the time that had passed, John had finally accepted that Gwen was neither out to kill them nor going anywhere, at least for the time being. Naturally, John wanted to learn more about the girl. So instead of taking the Sherlock approach of studying her from afar, John took the more normal and socially acceptable method for getting to know other people. He talked to her.

John was surprised to find how mature Gwen was. Had he not known that she was 19 years old, he never would have believed it. Gwen was as mature as any adult that he knew, and certainly more mature than Sherlock himself was at times. She also seemed strangely like a normal person. That was strange because anyone who was interested in Sherlock couldn't _possibly_ be normal. But John had to admit... she kept up the appearance rather well.

The only thing that he found less than normal was her unnatural control over her emotions. John never saw her display any emotion without doing so deliberately.

_What has happened to this girl to make her so self-contained?_ he wondered sadly. Though she often smiled while conversing with him, John could clearly tell that this smile was not nearly as true as the one she wore on the rare occasion that Sherlock got a case. That was the only other odd thing about her.

Aside from that, Gwen was an amiable, interesting, smart, beautiful young lady. John found that he greatly enjoyed her presence. It was nice to have some company other than Sherlock sometimes.

One day, Gwen kindly offered to do the grocery shopping not only for herself but also for the two men. After John gave her the money and she had left, John made himself a cup of tea and plopped down on his armchair. Sherlock glanced over at the other man from his own spot on the couch.

"So John, what have you noticed so far about our new flat mate?" he asked. John looked up in surprise.

"How do you mean?"

"Her appearance; her clothes. Tell me about them."

"Um, well..." John cleared his throat. "She's young. Nice, expensive clothes, just like you said. She generally wears light colors. Her hair is naturally blonde and wavy, and she never wears make-up."

"Specifics, John," said Sherlock, frustrated. "Tell me specific things you've noticed about the clothes she wears."

"Well she... she wears jeans often, boots... She always wears the same white jacket-"

"Right!" exclaimed Sherlock suddenly, sitting up with a grin. "Tell me John, how often does she wear it?"

"I don't know, she wears it a lot-"

"_Think_ John! I mean really think!" John paused for a moment and scoured his brain. He was surprised at the sudden realization that he now made. Why hadn't he noticed before?

"She always wears it. I've never seen her without it on."

"Are you sure about that John?"

"No..." John said slowly, staring at the wall as if all his memories of Gwen were playing there. "No, the time that she woke me up, she was wearing her pajamas."

"And what did her pajamas consist of?"

"Blue cotton pants and a long-sleeved blue shirt to match."

"_Exactly_ John! So why does she wear that white jacket?"

John looked at his friend in confusion. How should he know how a 19 year-old girl made her fashion choices?

"For the same reason you wear _your_ coat I suppose."

"Even I don't wear my coat in the house constantly," said Sherlock scathingly. "It's summertime John. Why is she always wearing a jacket?"

Thinking desperately for an answer that was clearly obvious to Sherlock, John saw pictures of her outfits swimming through his mind. Always that jacket... unless she was in her pajamas... Didn't she get warm wearing long sleeves all the time? Like Sherlock had said, it was _summer_ for crying out loud.

Suddenly, it hit him.

"She's hiding her arms," he said excitedly. Sherlock smiled proudly at his friend.

"Why?"

"Uh... could be... tattoos that she doesn't want her parents to see?"

"We aren't her parents, why would she hide them from us?" retorted Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes bored intensely into his friend's head, silently encouraging him. John clenched his hands in frustration. Why was everything so clear to Sherlock? He couldn't think of anything else she might be hiding! What else could be on both arms that she would want to hide?

_It's not as if she has scars from war injuries to hide_, he thought, thinking of his shoulder. Slowly, his head raised as it dawned on him.

"Scars..." he murmured. Looking intently at Sherlock, who was smirking on the couch, John said,

"She cuts herself." Sherlock nodded. "But why?"

"Now _that_ is something we should most certainly find out!" replied Sherlock with a wink.

When Gwen returned from shopping, she immediately knew that something was off. Sherlock was looking at her, while normally he simply ignored her presence. John on the contrary was _not_ looking at her, rather deliberately, which again veered from his normal behavior.

"I left a few bags at the bottom of the stairway," she announced, "I couldn't carry them all. If you two could help me bring them up, that'd be lovely. Then we can talk about whatever's wrong."

As she walked into the kitchen, she saw John looking rather startled by her observation, while Sherlock merely smiled. Gwen heard the tromping of footsteps that meant that both men were obediently going to fetch the groceries.

_Odd_... she thought vaguely, _wouldn't Sherlock normally make John do all the grunt work?- Ah. They wish to discuss whatever it is before they bring it up with me._

Sure enough, when they returned, Sherlock was still smiling and John looked less unsure. In fact, he looked rather determined about something. After putting away the groceries in silence, the three flat mates stood momentarily in the kitchen. Sherlock and Gwen seemed at ease, though John seemed a bit more uncomfortable.

When neither of the men said anything to her, Gwen walked away and made her way into the living room, where she then laid down on the couch.

"That's my couch!" protested Sherlock, as he and John followed her in. John shot him an exasperated look.

"Sherlock. Now is not the time."

"If I'm going to be interrogated about something, I'm at least going to be comfortable," asserted Gwen. Sherlock pouted a bit, but shut up and sat down on the armchair across from John.

"So what's all this about boys?" asked Gwen.

"We were wondering if we might see your jacket," requested John. Gwen smiled knowingly.

"Do you need my jacket because you already know what you'll find or because you aren't quite sure yet?"

"Oh we know what we'll find," said Sherlock smugly, "we just need to prove it."

"_Sherlock_ wants to prove it," John cut in, "I would rather just... discuss it."

"What are you, a therapist?" she mocked.

"Uh, no, but I think if you're going to be staying with us then it's something we ought to... you know... talk about."

"The jacket, please," Sherlock reiterated. Gwen looked over at Sherlock with a smile as she shrugged off the white jacket. Her arms now bare, Gwen threw the jacket carelessly at John, amused at how he jolted when it hit him. John gently laid her jacket on the chair and walked over to Gwen on the couch, Sherlock right beside him.

Gwen was already holding her arms out for them to examine.

"Dear God..." whispered John.

Gwen had cuts, bruises, and burn marks galore up and down both arms. Some were obviously old scars; others were much fresher.

"How long has this been going on?" demanded Sherlock.

"How long have I been inflicting this sort of damage on myself?" said Gwen. "Six years."

"Why did you have the need to qualify that statement?" asked Sherlock immediately. "What happened before then? Who else was involved in this?"

"Oops," whispered Gwen teasingly, though it was clear that the subject had made her rather serious, sad even. "I'll have to be more careful or I'll end up giving away everything about myself."

"You have to tell us _some_ things," said Sherlock in frustration, "Otherwise we'll never learn _anything_ about you. Answer the question now please."

Gazing stubbornly into Sherlock's eyes, Gwen kept her silence and saw his facial features shift a bit as he got more annoyed.

"Did someone else abuse you? Was it one of your parents?- Oh..." he said, staring off for a moment as things began to click in his mind. Sharply, he looked back at the young woman. "That's why you don't get along with your parents. Your father used to abuse you, and your mother never stepped in to say no... Is that what happened?"

Gwen looked away from Sherlock and her eyes drifted to the floor, not wanting to look at John and face his kindness and concern.

"I was abused until I was thirteen years old."

"How young were you when it started?" That was John.

"I don't know. Too young to remember."

"But why did it stop when you turned thirteen?" asked Sherlock curiously.

"He became bored with it, that's all. Bored. So he left me alone after that."

"So why on earth did you keep hurting yourself?" asked John incredulously, obviously very sad about her past, and feeling sympathetic pain for her pain.

"You missed it," murmured Sherlock in wonder. "You didn't know how to live without it."

"Exactly right of course, as usual," whispered Gwen in return. Clenching her teeth together, she looked fiercely into Sherlock's eyes. "I'm not ashamed of it. And don't think that you can make me stop either."

"No of course not!" exclaimed Sherlock as he leapt to his feet and strolled out to the middle of the room. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"What are you talking about?" cried John as he rose up as well. Turning back to Gwen, he continued,

"You have to get help Gwen. This is a serious problem."

"Thank you for that brilliant analysis Doctor, but I'm doing just fine," she replied, her voice taut. Without speaking another word, Gwen got off the couch, grabbed her jacket from the armchair, and brushed past John on her way to the door. Before leaving, she turned back to John and Sherlock.

"Don't tell anyone else about this. It's no one's business but mine." And with that, she left the flat.

After a moment of stunned silence, John turned to his friend.

"That is the most vulnerable I've ever seen her."

"Of course it was. Something that emotional in her life was guaranteed to provoke some sort of emotional response," replied Sherlock.

"Will she be alright?" Sherlock glanced sharply at his friend, narrowing his eyes a bit.

"Why do you care so much?"

"Well I just... I mean... She's in pain! I feel bad for her. I'd be concerned no matter who it was. It makes it all the worse that she's actually living with us because I feel more connected to her."

"That's all it is?"

"Yes Sherlock. I, unlike you, am not a sociopath. I feel sympathy towards other human beings," said John pointedly. Sherlock seemed to ponder this statement before inclining his head slightly, as if agreeing to it.

"Right then! Well, to answer your question, I have no idea whether she'll be alright. But I suggest that you ask her yourself when she returns. I think I'll turn in early tonight."

John's mouth opened as if to say something, but he held his tongue and simply watched Sherlock strut out the room. He felt as though Sherlock was acting a bit strange... And he _never_ went to bed early! What was wrong with him?

Pushing the thought from his mind, John grabbed a book and went upstairs to his own bedroom. It was too early for sleeping, but he didn't feel like talking to Gwen tonight. Another night perhaps.

In the room below John, Sherlock lay awake as well. He had not bothered to get into his pajamas and he had not even gotten under the covers. He lay on top of his sheets on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his fingers pressed together as he remained lost in thought for several long hours.


	6. Chapter 6

"You look... very nice today," complimented John awkwardly. The day following their discovery of her self-abuse, John and Sherlock took Gwen out to have lunch with them. Only John showed remnants of the tension amongst the trio: Gwen and Sherlock had, as always, masked their emotions or entirely gotten over them.

"Thank you John," she replied sweetly. Sherlock looked briefly between the two before picking up a menu and flapping it up in front of his face. Clearing his throat, John followed suit.

Soon enough a waiter, about twenty years old, approached.

"Yes, just water for me," said Sherlock, before the waiter had even uttered a word. The waiter looked a bit put off, but he nodded and turned to John.

"Anything to drink for you sir?"

"Water is fine for me as well, thank you."

"And how is the lovely lady doing today?" he asked flirtatiously, directing his gaze at Gwen. Gwen looked up at him with a start. Shifting a bit in her seat she said,

"Yes, um, fine. I'll just be having a sprite."

"Have you come here before?" the waiter asked, smiling kindly at her. Gwen seemed rather unsure how to respond, so awkwardly remained silent, seeming to be struggling for words.

Absorbing this new fact, Sherlock turned to the waiter.

"No, she hasn't," he answered for her, smirking slightly when the waiter glanced at him in annoyance. Not bothering to keep trying, the man walked away from the table. Gwen visibly relaxed when he did so.

"That's interesting..." commented Sherlock tauntingly. Rolling her eyes, Gwen asked,

"What, the fact that I'm awkward around strangers? So I'm a bit socially awkward, that's not a big deal."

"No. No that's not it," he replied with a sarcastic tone. "Because you _aren't_ socially awkward. As a matter of fact, you act very smoothly around everyone else: John, myself, Lestrade, Sally... and yet with this boy you felt extremely uncomfortable. It's more than that however... you genuinely didn't know how to communicate with him."

"What are you getting at Sherlock?" asked John curiously.

"You've never had friends your own age," concluded Sherlock triumphantly. "You feel at ease with people older than you, but you can't make friends your own age. Why is that? Why don't you have any younger friends?"

Though her expression was a bit stiff, Gwen smiled amusedly. She had prepared herself for this. The risk in living with someone like Sherlock Holmes was that you never knew what he would discover about you, or what painful subjects he would drudge up.

"He wouldn't let me," she answered honestly, realizing the futility of remaining silent.

"Who? Your father?" pressed Sherlock.

"No."

"_Who_ then?"

"My brother."

The two men were struck silent by this new piece of information. They hadn't even known that she had a brother, much less that he was obviously quite important in her life.

"Oh..." breathed Sherlock. "Not your father, your brother. Was he that one that abused you?"

"Yes," she said, struggling to keep all of her emotions on the inside. "My brother has been the only constant in my life. He would hurt me, but he was always there. When I was younger at least... My brother was possessive, so he wouldn't let me socialize with anyone my own age. Although, they may not have wanted to befriend me anyways- he never was very popular, so I'm sure he would have deterred them regardless. Either way, being around my brother all the time has made me more comfortable with people older than myself while I never learned to connect with people of my age."

"Why are you telling us all this now?" asked John. Gwen smiled weakly.

"He would only find out later. I figured that I'd save him the trouble," she told him, referring to Sherlock.

"Wise choice," said Sherlock simply, directing his gaze back to the menu. Though his attention was directed downwards, Sherlock felt as though he could feel the girl across from him staring at him.

_What is she thinking_? he found himself wondering. _What does she think when she looks at me, as she does so often?_

Sherlock's brow crinkled as he realized that he was allowing thoughts of this girl to invade his mind. What did it matter? It didn't.

Somehow he didn't believe what he was telling himself. Realizing that her gaze was no longer on him, Sherlock glanced up to see her smiling brightly at John, who was laughing heartily. They were apparently having a very nice conversation.

A sick, twisted feeling appeared in the pit of his stomach. Confused, Sherlock quickly turned back to his menu. What was that feeling he was experiencing? It was rather unpleasant. Was he feeling annoyed at being ignored? No, that couldn't be it; such things had never bothered him before. Was he sad? No, it didn't feel the same as being sad. He knew that feeling. This feeling was something new.

Was this what people described as jealousy? But what on earth did he have to be jealous of?

His thoughts whirling, Sherlock made the only conclusion he could allow himself to make. He was jealous of how much time this girl was spending with John, his best friend. He'd never had friends before, which explained why he'd never felt such things. That must be it. He was jealous that John was spending so much time with someone else. The reason why he'd never felt it when John was still dating Sarah was because she wasn't around as much. That was it.

Everything made sense. Feeling once more at ease, Sherlock blocked any remaining thoughts from his mind, convincing himself that he truly did care what he ordered to eat.


	7. Chapter 7

"Sherlock! Case for ya," said Lestrade, pulling out the file.

"Yes obviously, or we wouldn't be here," replied Sherlock dryly. Lestrade made a face but ignored the comment, instead handing Sherlock the file. John and Gwen immediately both crowded near, trying to get a glimpse at the file's contents. Noticing this, Sherlock looked slowly at them both before stepping away so that he stood apart from them. John rolled his eyes and Gwen scowled.

"Excellent," said Sherlock after a moment, snapping the case file shut. "May we go to the crime scene?"

Lestrade waved a vague hand.

"Knock yourselves out."

John, Gwen, and Lestrade exchanged their goodbyes while Sherlock merely turned and left. Hurrying after him, John and Gwen followed him to the car and clambered into the back of the taxi together.

"May we see the file now Sherlock?" asked John after a moment.

"Oh," was all Sherlock said, simultaneously passing it off to his partners. John graciously opened the file so that both he and Gwen could see.

Gwen inhaled sharply, her eyes wide. A hand slowly rose to her face, subconsciously placing itself over her mouth in her shock. Two heads quickly snapped up, looking intently at Gwen.

"What is it?" asked John kindly.

"I..." Gwen cleared her throat. "I used to know her."

"How?" asked Sherlock sharply, the importance of his question evident in his voice. "Tell me exactly how you know her."

"Well I just... I'm sure it's a coincidence," she said, "I used to take piano lessons from her, that's all. That must have been, well... about ten years ago now."

John immediately became sympathetic, saying sorry and trying to comfort Gwen. She appreciated his kindness, and she allowed herself to rest her head against his shoulder.

Though that may have mostly been for the sake of avoiding the calculating look in Sherlock's burning blue eyes.

"How was she killed?" Gwen asked once they'd arrived at her piano teacher's house.

"Stabbed to death," replied John quietly.

"Stabbed seven times as a matter of fact," contributed Sherlock, his tone vague as he had already begun to inspect their surroundings. "Twice in the stomach, once in the leg, once-"

"Yes, alright Sherlock," John cut him off, seeing the uneasy look in Gwen's eyes. Gently rubbing her back, John peered down at her concernedly.

"Are you going to be alright Gwen?" he asked. "Maybe we should take you back to the house."

"No," she said finally, raising her eyes from the ground to meet his. Smiling almost steadily, she reached out and grabbed the doctor's hand, giving it a squeeze. "I'll be alright. But thank you for your concern."

"John, examine the body, will you?" Sherlock called out. John gazed around the room.

"Where is it?"

"Upstairs."

"Well then why aren't _you _upstairs?"

"Looking for signs of entry," was the mumbled reply as the detective continued to sweep over every inch of the room. John merely smiled at his friend's typical behavior and gave Gwen another smile before heading up the stairs, leaving Gwen and Sherlock alone.

"Tell me what you're looking for."

Sherlock quickly looked up from his work, surprised at her request. Normally Gwen merely stayed in the background watching. Never before had she been so bold.

"Anything to show me who else has been here other than Mrs. Wilson. Was it a forced entry, or was it someone she expected to visit?"

"Couldn't you get the police to help you with that?" she asked pointedly, gesturing at the door through which Sherlock had banished all the cops upon arrival. Sherlock scoffed.

"The police. They merely get in the way, muddling everything."

"Alright then. Teach me." Again, Sherlock started a bit in shock. Such an odd way of speaking, jumping around topics like that. About to refuse her, Sherlock paused for a moment and reconsidered. What was the harm after all?

Grinning at Sherlock just as excitedly as he was grinning at her, Gwen found herself stunned by the spark in his stunning blue eyes.

"This is what you look for..." he began.

"I imagine today must have been rather hard for you," commented John softly, searching Gwen's face with his eyes. Sherlock had already retired for the night, feeling rather perturbed by the fact that he had thus far been unable to get any leads regarding the case. John had opted to stay up a bit longer with Gwen, and they were now seated next to one another on the couch.

"Yes," she replied simply, staring openly back at John.

"You'll be alright won't you?"

"Oh yes. No need to worry about me Dr. Watson."

"You can..." John cleared his throat. "You _can_ call me John you know."

"I know that."

A silence fell over them. John shifted slightly in his seat. Gwen noticed and immediately began to wonder why.

"Gwen... I thought perhaps you and I could grab a cup of coffee sometime. Just- just the two of us. Without Sherlock. If you would like."

Gwen was rather surprised at this, and she considered it momentarily.

"Yes alright," she replied, smiling kindly. "That could be fun."

"Well," John said abruptly, though smiling in relief now, "I suppose I should bid you goodnight."

"Alright." John nodded once before quickly standing and turning on his heel, heading straight up to bed. Gwen calmly watched him go, unsure what to think of this new development.

"Sherlock, how would you feel if I dated Gwen?" John asked his friend the next day. Gwen had gone out for breakfast this morning, giving the two men some alone time.

Sherlock slowly looked over at John from where he was sitting in his chair. As soon as they made eye contact, Sherlock smirked.

"I'm hardly surprised."

"That's not really an answer to the question."

"I doubt that I have any real say in who you choose to date. Correct?"

"Well... I suppose not. But I would rather have your understanding anyways."

"Not my support?"

"I'll take what I can get."

"Well then. I understand. Satisfied?"

"Eager to keep working on the case?" Sherlock finally turned back to the doctor, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Coming?" Sherlock quickly leaped up, grabbing his coat and heading for the door. John shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Shouldn't we... shouldn't we wait for Gwen?" Sherlock completely ignored his friend, strolling out of the flat. Cursing quietly to himself, John jumped up, grabbed his own jacket and followed.

"She'll know where we are," was all Sherlock said as they made their way outside. John made a face but followed Sherlock nevertheless.


	8. Chapter 8

"I'm off to work," John called out. Glancing around the flat, John saw that Gwen was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee, reading the newspaper, whilst Sherlock was crouched on his chair, fingers pressed together, eyes glazed over. Clearly he was deep in thought. With a sigh—realizing he would get no response—John smiled fondly and left, closing the door behind him.

Gwen soon finished her coffee and plopped down on the couch, pulling out her laptop. Quickly she looked over at Sherlock. He hadn't moved an inch. Gwen began to type away, ignoring her flat mate.

"You don't believe in coincidences."

At the sound of Sherlock's voice, Gwen looked calmly at the clock on her laptop. Three hours since John had left and only _now_ was Sherlock stirring at all. Smiling slightly, she raised her head to meet his eyes. Gwen did not need to ask what he meant. Immediately she understood that he was referring to her comment when they'd received the Mrs. Wilson case three days ago.

"What makes you say that, Mr. Holmes?"

"You're too much like me to believe in coincidences. Also, your foot is tapping."

Immediately her leg ceased its bouncing. She hadn't even realized that she'd been doing it. She _never_ tapped her foot. Such habits were absolute giveaways in normal people, hence why she allowed herself to have no such habit. The fact that her foot was tapping was rather significant. She was even more nervous than she'd initially realized.

The internal curses floating through her mind did not show at all in her face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you-"

"You didn't," he cut in immediately. A small smile currently graced Sherlock's face, but as always it was the brilliant brightness of Sherlock's eyes that transfixed Gwen. She loved when he had that look on his face, as he always did when he was 'in the zone'. That look of pure ecstasy, of wonder... Of love.

After all, it was undeniable. Sherlock loved his work.

"In fact..." he continued, "You've helped me."

"How so?"

Suddenly Sherlock leapt up from his chair and began pacing madly about the room.

"It's been driving me mad!" he exclaimed. Just by looking at him, Gwen knew he was on to something. That look was the one he always had when he was about to reveal a puzzle's answer. It might have unnerved her if it hadn't fascinated her quite so much as it did.

"The old woman... Why? Who would want to kill her? Why like that? Whoever did it clearly wants us to know that it was a murder. There was no attempt to make it look like an accident, oh no no. It is almost as if someone is trying to leave a message. But for who? And to what purpose? Her house has been professionally dealt with. There's no trace of how anyone got in, no calendar, no appointment book, _nothing_!"

Now Sherlock turned, making direct eye contact with Gwen, his eyes ablaze.

"I had my suspicions of course. After all, what are the odds? Months after you come to live with us there is a murder case where you happen to know the victim. Then when we asked you about it, you brushed it off as if it were nothing. It wasn't until now that I became sure. This murder... It's a message for _you_."

Gwen opened her mouth to respond.

"Not just you of course," he continued loudly. Gwen's mouth snapped shut. "A message for you _and_ I. _Oh_ what _fun_! But why- _Why_?"

As if he'd just remembered her presence, Sherlock quickly turned on Gwen once more.

"You must know!" Sherlock realized. "Tell me. Who's done this? What's the message?"

"I don't..." began Gwen timidly, "I don't really know."

"You _must_ know!"

"Yes, you just said that," snapped Gwen. "However, that does _not_ change the fact that I do not actually know. I'm sorry."

Suddenly Sherlock was crouched on the floor right in front of Gwen, very close to her. Reaching out he snatched her laptop away, dropping it on the couch next to her. Leaning in close, Sherlock held her head in his hands, locking his eyes fiercely with hers.

"Think," he stressed, "There must be something. Something that you know. You just need to _think_."

"Get off of me," returned Gwen harshly, pushing his hands away as she scooted down the couch. "Have you no understanding of personal space?"

Sherlock hardly seemed to hear her. As soon as she'd pushed him away, the cogs in his head had begun to whirl and his brilliant mind quickly evaluated her appearance and behavior. All this was quickly added to the other data he had collected on her thus far. Suddenly, something clicked. As he made this realization only seconds later, his brow crinkled in confusion.

"You're attracted to me," he murmured softly, staring intently into her blue eyes. Gwen's breath caught a bit, but then she rolled her eyes slightly.

"Brilliant observation, Sherlock. Do you have a point?"

Sherlock's eyebrows rose at her admittance, but now he was smiling slightly.

"You don't deny it?" Gwen chuckled.

"Why should I do? You're one of the most intelligent men I know. I'd be surprised if you couldn't see things as basic as that. Besides, lying to you is never a good idea, I find."

"You never lie to anyone you care about," said Sherlock immediately. Jolting himself a bit, Sherlock quickly stood up, stepping away from the couch but maintaining eye contact. Still sitting on the couch, Gwen smiled in surprise.

"No, I don't," she agreed. "I didn't realize that you knew that." At this Sherlock smirked.

"Of course I do." Silence.

"Well," Gwen said, "Would you like to know what _I_ know?" Sherlock's mouth curled up at the edges and he tilted his head a bit, waiting for her to continue.

Gwen slowly stood up and walked closer to Sherlock, causing his eyes to narrow at her, cautious of her intent. When she stood a comfortable distance from him, Gwen stopped and continued.

"I know that you, Sherlock Holmes, are jealous."

"Of who?" asked Sherlock instantly.

"Of me." Sherlock felt the nervous tension in his shoulders ease up. "Because of the time I've been spending with John."

Sherlock said nothing. Gwen smirked slightly. Then she stepped forward once more until she was mere inches away from him. Sherlock did not budge at all, feeling as though she were putting him to some sort of test.

"I also know that you're also jealous... of John."

"I have no reason to be jealous of John," said Sherlock, clearly amused.

"No, of course not," agreed Gwen. Sherlock was a bit disconcerted to see that the smirk had not left her face. Suddenly Gwen extended a hand, placing it on his chest, over his heart. Shocked though he was, Sherlock still did not move.

"At least, there wouldn't be a reason to be jealous of him, except that you're attracted to me."

Eyes widening, Sherlock's thoughts immediately and unintentionally focused upon his breathing and the rather rapid beats of his heart. Her fingers over his heart, feeling its beating as well.

Moments later, Gwen's hand slid away from his chest. Their eyes still locked intensely, Gwen stepped backwards. Breaking their contact, she turned towards the door.

Sherlock finally broke from his practically entranced state, his mind whirling once more. In only seconds he thought back over and processed their entire conversation. It was like he could hear it all in his mind. And something stuck out to him that he hadn't caught before.

"_One_ of?"

Gwen paused, turning back to face Sherlock.

"Pardon?"

"I'm _one_ of the most intelligent men you know?" he repeated. "Who else do you know?"

Chuckling, Gwen merely smiled and turned back to the door. The frustration boiled up in Sherlock as he realized that, as usual, she was not going to answer his question. He opened his mouth to speak again when-

"I'm going out. Don't forget to check on the toenails in the pickle jar."

Don't forget to...?

*click* The door shutting jolted Sherlock awake from his stunned state. How had she known about the toenails in the pickle jar? He hadn't told her! And she couldn't possibly have stumbled upon it. This time—due to constant nagging from John—Sherlock had finally kept his experiment in his own bedroom.

How could she possibly...?

Sherlock's eyes widened as his mind reached the only possible explanation.

Gwen had searched his room.

Rushing to his bedchamber, Sherlock dashed about, checking each and every one of his possessions.

Nothing had been moved. Nothing had even been _touched_. The pickle jar was just where it should be. His notebook was securely stored under his mattress.

Sherlock stopped suddenly. Slowly looking up, he made another realization. Sherlock whispered aloud to himself, smiling faintly in appreciation.

"Oh... Oh, stupid." Sherlock gave one loud laugh. "Stupid, stupid... She was distracting you from pursuing the question. Stupid."


	9. Chapter 9

Gwen took a deep breath of the crisp, clean air. Looking towards the sky, her eyes calmly followed the flight of a crowd of birds as they passed overhead. Diverting her attention forward again, Gwen observed passerby from her position on the park bench.

_Old woman: widower, not interested in remarrying, dog just died. Most likely has at least one child. Husband—Michael—was Jewish, but she is Christian._

-How could you _possibly_ know all that?- Gwen grinned at her mind's imitation of John. This was secretly what she hoped to happen someday. This is normally how John would respond to Sherlock's deductions, and she could only pray that someday her own deductions would merit such a response.

_Well_... she thought, pretending to herself that she was truly talking to John, _The ring on her finger indicates that she is married, but her socks aren't matching, so there is no one to point it out to her. So she's a widower with no intention of going back on the market. Not surprising, given her age. The dog hair on her shoes shows that she clearly owned a pet dog, but as she glanced at a couple playing with their dog in the park, tears came to her eyes. So the dog has recently passed away. _

_There is a clip-on earring on her left ear, but not on her right, so she was probably on the phone earlier today and forgot to replace it. Now who would call to comfort someone for their dog's death? Chances are, their kid. Possibly a good friend, but I'm willing to bet that she hasn't even told her friends yet, if she has any._

_Then, her cross necklace indicates that she is Christian in faith but she is wearing a bracelet which spells out 'Michael' in Hebrew. So her husband was named Michael and was of Jewish faith._

Gwen sighed sadly to herself. None of this was impressive. For God's sake, Sherlock could probably find all that in five seconds, plus everywhere she'd traveled in the last two years, how many children she had, where she lived, and what her profession was. Possibly more.

_I'm nothing_... she thought despairingly, her eyes closing as if to block her from the outside world. Releasing her breath slowly, Gwen allowed herself to sit quietly for a few minutes, comforted by the darkness of the inside of her eyelids and the soft breeze around her.

Opening her eyes once more, Gwen decided that she'd spent enough time people-watching for the day. It was time to get back home. After all, there was still Mrs. Wilson's case to work on, and surely Sherlock would have forgotten their conversation by now.

_Unlikely_, she thought grudgingly_, But perhaps he'll be too distracted by the case to bring it up again._

As she rose to leave, Gwen turned back to the bench briefly. Every muscle in her body froze in fear and she felt her heart skip a beat. Lying on the bench, right next to where she had been seated, was a manila envelope that had most definitely not been there before.

_When?_ she thought desperately, her head snapping both ways, looking down the dirt path for anyone suspicious. She saw no one.

Hesitantly, Gwen reached forward and picked up the envelope. First she felt all around the letter, making sure it was as flat as it appeared. It was. Then she sniffed it, just in case. Nothing suspicious. Just the smell of paper.

Gwen sliced the envelope open quickly with her nail. From inside she pulled out a piece of paper upon which the following words were typed:

Don't think that by not playing the game you can _escape_ the game.

If you choose not to solve this case there will merely be more victims than were originally intended.

Make this worth my time.

And don't worry. You aren't next.

..-..

"Sherlock!" she yelled, slamming the door behind her. The envelope was currently residing in the bottom of a trashcan, now nothing more than ash. Carrying something like that around Sherlock Holmes was a terrible idea if you didn't want him to see it.

Sherlock's head calmly lifted up and he glanced at her before lying back down. He was sprawled out on the couch in his silk pajama robe. On his left arm were two nicotine patches.

"Sherlock, don't ignore me," she demanded, "There is something we need to discuss."

"Yes, what?" he responded with a bored tone.

"At Mrs. Wilson's house, there was something that bugged me."

Now Sherlock truly looked at Gwen, his attention captivated.

"On the table," she explained as she took a seat on one of the plush armchairs, "if you remember-"

"I remember everything," cut in Sherlock immediately. Gwen glared at him and he shut his mouth.

"There was a strawberry shortcake. There was even a piece cut off, with crumbs still sitting on a plate."

"Yes, and?"

"Mrs. Wilson never ate strawberries. She was allergic to them."

Sherlock's brow furrowed and he slowly sat up, gazing intently into her sincere eyes.

"What are you suggesting?"

"Well clearly someone else was there. Someone she'd been expecting. They brought her a cake for goodness sake."

"So, who would bring her a cake?" murmured Sherlock. "A friend perhaps? It must have been someone she trusted..."

"I actually have an idea about that too," admitted Gwen. Sherlock looked sharply at her. "You see, Mrs. Wilson's husband died about twenty years ago, and she's been alone ever since. She was a real sweetheart; she loved company and spending time with people. She always said how she didn't teach piano for the money but merely because she enjoyed playing and teaching others."

"So?"

"I'm getting to it, calm down," schooled Gwen. "So, she used to offer a deal. If you brought her some sort of food, like for a picnic, and if you came early and ate with her, then she would give you your lesson for half-price. So I figure-"

"-the murderer was one of her clients," finished Sherlock in wonder. "Excellent! Now we simply need to find a list of all her students. Though, we've so far been unsuccessful in this area..."

"I'll get to that too. But there was something else. Mrs. Wilson was-"

Gwen cut off as the door opened and John entered the flat.

"Hello you two," he greeted jovially.

"Uh, yes, hello John," replied Gwen, attempting to be as cordial as possible. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Gwen turned back to Sherlock to continue.

"Have I interrupted something?" asked John slowly, gesturing between Gwen and Sherlock.

"Yes," Sherlock said immediately. "Gwen what-"

Ignoring Sherlock momentarily (and internally scowling at his rudeness), Gwen smiled at the doctor.

"No, not at all," she said sweetly, speaking over Sherlock, who frowned in annoyance. "We were merely discussing the case."

"Ah," was the response. "I'll go make us some tea then."

"Thank you, that would be lovely."

Turning back to Sherlock, Gwen rolled her eyes at the childish expression on his face. He looked as if he were pouting. She could almost imagine that he was about to have a tantrum at any moment: flinging himself down on the ground, thumping it with his fists, shrieking to the high heavens.

"What?" a voice snapped Gwen back to earth.

"Hmm?"

"You were chuckling."

"Oh, ignore that." Sherlock glared slightly. "The point is, Mrs. Wilson's body was found upstairs, correct?"

"Yes, of course."

"No need to get huffy." Gwen could have sworn Sherlock's lips quirked ever so slightly at this. "John! You're sure that Mrs. Wilson wasn't moved upstairs _after_ being murdered, yes?"

"Yes, very sure. She was clearly killed just where we found her," John called out from the kitchen.

"And where exactly was that?"

"Uh," he called loudly as the sound of kettles and cups clunking around filled the background, "In the upstairs hallway, just outside the bathroom and bedroom."

"Well," Gwen said, directing herself at Sherlock once more. "Mrs. Wilson-"

"-never uses the upstairs," completed Sherlock. His back straightened as his eyes gazed away from Gwen's face.

"Precisely."

"Sorry, have I missed something?" came John's voice.

"No," Sherlock and Gwen shouted simultaneously. Grinning at each other, they shared a small chuckle before getting serious again.

"So what would she have been doing upstairs?" concluded Sherlock, making a summation of their thoughts, not actually expecting Gwen to know.

"Now _that_ I do not know." Sherlock's head tilted and his eyes narrowed considerably. Gwen could feel him analyzing her, judging her every word. She tried not to find it disconcerting. "Perhaps we should go back to the crime scene to check it out?"

Thirty minutes later, Sherlock, Gwen, and John got out of a taxi that had pulled up outside of Mrs. Wilson's house. Jogging up the walkway, Sherlock flung the door open and strutted in. John, being a gentleman, kindly waited and allowed Gwen to pass through before him.

Immediately Sherlock began to examine the living room, spinning around slowly, his hands slowly moving about as he struggled to solve the puzzle.

"Stop it."

Gwen looked at John in puzzlement. He merely gave her a look and a shrug, having grown used to Sherlock's unexplainable tendencies.

"We weren't-"

"You were thinking about speaking. Don't."

The abrupt tone was one which Gwen had become fairly acquainted with. Something inside of her told her that she should feel miffed, or that she should scowl at his rudeness. So why was it that she instead found herself smiling fondly?

Suddenly, Sherlock's face lit up. His eyes widened, as if the information he had just absorbed had to enter through his ever-observational eyes. He reeled backwards, hands raised thoughtlessly. Without speaking a word, Sherlock rushed off into another part of the house. Gwen chuckled as John sighed at his friend's behavior. Meeting her eyes, John smiled gently at her, to which Gwen responded in turn.

John's heart began to hammer as he found himself captivated by her beauty. How much he longed to hold that hand, or to hug her close to him, or to kiss those soft pink lips. And what was a better time than now? It was so hard to get any time alone with her, and now Sherlock had just dashed off, leaving them by themselves in the living room.

Hesitantly, John found himself leaning down, his face growing closer to hers.

Gwen was frozen in place, unsure what to do. Was John about to kiss her? What should she do about it? She was sure that she fancied him: that was clear from the beat of her heart when he smiled at her, and the flutter in her stomach when he laughed. She knew that she enjoyed his company, that she found him attractive, that she knew him to be a good, kind man.

That should be enough, shouldn't it?

But somehow, instead of images of the well-intentioned doctor, in her mind she saw images of a quite different man. A man with-

"I knew it! In the bathroom, the toilet is-"

Gwen's thoughts were cut off and John halted immediately, quickly stepping away. Gwen found herself wishing that John didn't blush quite so easily. Directly across from them, at the other side of the room, was Sherlock standing quite still. Whatever he was thinking, none of it showed on his face, and he said nothing.

John cleared his throat.

"Um, yes Sherlock?" After a moment, Sherlock glanced away from his two flat-mates, instead choosing to look towards the stairway leading to the upper floor.

"The toilet in the downstairs bathroom is broken. If only we had a list of her students, we'd have him. We'd _have_ him," he cried frustratedly, turning on the spot a bit distractedly.

"How do you mean?"

"Don't you see it John?" said Sherlock sharply. "Her downstairs bathroom isn't functional. _That's_ why she was upstairs. Don't you _see_?"

"See _what_?" he returned. Sherlock stopped dumbly, shaking his head a bit.

"Incredible. It really must be like being an entirely different species. How do your funny little brains work anyways?"

John kept his silence, crossing his arms, waiting for Sherlock to continue. Obligingly, Sherlock opened his mouth once more.

"He's crippled," Gwen said quietly. John turned to her in surprise and even Sherlock peered at her, looking a bit disappointed that she'd taken his punchline.

"Wha... What makes you say that?" asked John.

"That's why she was upstairs. He needed to use the bathroom. The only reason she would have gone upstairs also was if he needed assistance getting up the stairs. So he must be crippled."

"Is that... right?" asked John in amazement, turning to Sherlock. John was surprised to see that the annoyed look had disappeared from Sherlock's face. Instead there was a small smile. John would swear that he looked proud even. But before John could reflect on it, the expression had vanished, being replaced with Sherlock's neutral blank face.

"Yes, it's exactly right. Now we only need to locate her students." Sherlock began to turn away, heading for the kitchen, to search everything he could. There must be _some_ sort of record _somewhere_.

"Sherlock. Here."

Sherlock and John both spun towards Gwen who had somehow managed to make her way to the piano without their noticing. She was holding up a slip of paper. Sherlock crossed the floor in a matter of strides before snatching the paper from her hand. His eyes scanned the paper quickly. It was indeed a handwritten list of names, all of her students.

"Where?" demanded Sherlock.

"She always kept that tucked into the front cover of one of her piano books," explained Gwen, gesturing towards the piano bench that contained all of the woman's music books.

Sherlock stared into Gwen's eyes with such intensity that even John shifted his feet, feeling uncomfortable.

"John," said Sherlock, not breaking his eye contact with Gwen. "Call Lestrade and tell him we've solved Mrs. Wilson's murder. We're on our way over."

"Uh, right." John gave Gwen one last slightly worried look before he pulled out his phone, exiting the house in order to make the call.

"Why didn't you find that before?" hissed Sherlock coldly.

"I didn't remember until just now," she replied just as stonily.

Gwen stared up at the man before her. The extreme paleness of his face, the sharp angles of his cheekbones. The curly black hair that flopped down onto his forehead. But most incredibly, his eyes. That burning, curious look blazing in his cold blue eyes, with such an amazing depth to them. Gwen felt there was no end to the intelligence behind those searching eyes, no escape from the judgment there.

"I've made the... call..." John's proclamation grew more timid as he observed the tense atmosphere between the other two. About to speak again, he stopped when Sherlock broke the connection, releasing Gwen from his hold on her.

"Let's go then."

And just like that, Sherlock strode out of the house, Gwen close behind, with John bringing up the rear.

_**Thanks to all who read this! I greatly appreciate everyone who has favorited this story or put it on story alert. Please review! Any critiques or comments are welcome and very beneficial. What are your thoughts? What would you like to see? What can be improved? Thanks again everyone.**_


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's note: Thanks for reading! Remember to favorite, alert, and review. Thanks so much to everyone who has taken the time to do so already. Enjoy!_

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><p>"So you caught him then?" John clarified.<p>

"Oh yeah," was Lestrade's cheerful response as he looked all around at John, Gwen, and Sherlock, so as to include all of them in the story. "We looked up each of those names you gave us, and found the only guy that was crippled. From there it was a piece of cake. As soon as this guy—Mark Loy—saw us at the door, he lost it. Completely gave in, confessed to everything. Apparently _someone..._ offered him money for an operation to fix his leg, but only if he killed the old woman. The more interesting he made it, the more money he got. That's why he stabbed her so many times."

"That's... that's _awful_," said John. "Who would pay someone to kill an innocent woman like that?"

"Who would sponsor a serial killer?" murmured Sherlock, his gaze directed at Gwen. She met his eyes calmly. John's head tilted and his brow furrowed a bit in confusion, but Sherlock merely gave him a look telling him to forget about it.

Lestrade looked quickly between Sherlock and Gwen, and then cleared his throat.

"Anyways, we'll obviously have to keep looking for whoever _paid_ him, but I'm satisfied with what we've got. I just stopped by to say... thank you Sherlock." Sherlock nodded once then turned away from the rest of the group, beginning to pace slowly. Lestrade gave a slight sigh, but he grinned.

"Thanks to you too, John, Gwen. I'll be seeing you."

"You're welcome," returned John.

"Bye!" Gwen added as he left the flat. Clapping his hands together, John turned to the other two with a smile.

"How about going out for dinner to celebrate?" he offered.

"You two go," responded Sherlock immediately. "I'm staying home." John's eyebrows lifted.

"Are you... are you serious Sherlock? You _always_ intrude on my dates. Now you're willingly setting one up, after I've specifically asked you to come along? No, no way. You'll show up later, right?" he accused.

Sherlock made a face at his friend.

"Nice to see that you trust me so much John." The look on John's face was a clear, '_Seriously? You must be kidding'._ Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"No, I won't intrude. Go on." After hesitating for another moment, giving Sherlock a look of disbelief, John finally shrugged and shook his head with a small smile. He looked imploringly in Gwen's direction.

"I'd love to," she said graciously. John grinned as she walked over to him. Gently touching the small of her back, John ushered her out the door.

"So where did you have in mind, John?" Sherlock could hear Gwen's voice fading away as they disappeared down the stairwell.

.-.

"No, really, I swear it's true," assured John even as he chuckled along with Gwen's bright laugh.

"The mother even had the nerve to get upset with me for telling her son that it was physically impossible for him to be pregnant. She said, 'It's no right of _yours_ to teach _my son_ about those things!'" Gwen erupted in another burst of laughter at the high-pitched, whiny tone that John had taken on in his impersonation.

"'If I want to teach him about...'" John—still making fun of the woman—glanced around him dramatically as if to make sure no one else could hear, "'..._sex_...'" he whispered, pretending disdain for the very word, "'... then _I _will do so! What kind of a doctor _are_ you!' Well... I assured her that I was the kind who would be honest with 13-year-old boys who were having irrational fears. She didn't seem much happier with that and she stormed out, dragging him with her."

"Oh, poor kid," said Gwen, still chuckling. "What a horrid mother."

"What about you?" asked John. Gwen looked at him in surprise.

"What _about_ me?"

"Your parents," he replied quietly. Clearly the conversation had taken a turn for the more serious. For a moment, Gwen wondered bitterly if the entire story had been told for the sole purpose of changing the subject towards her own parents. Shoving this emotion aside, she stared down at her plate, twirling her fork in her pasta with unnecessary force.

"I don't know," she said simply. Glancing up she saw John's raised eyebrows, narrowed eyes, and stubborn expression. She scowled internally and looked back down. Composing herself, she let out a small sigh to release her tensions.

"My mother was always very... absent. Figuratively and literally. When she was at home, she barely paid me any mind. To be fair, she didn't pay much mind to my brother or father either. But my mother was a very sick woman. She was often in and out of the hospital, due to her 'episodes'. Father never said why, or what was wrong with her, but while I was growing up I thought that it was because of my brother and me. I thought that... we made her sick. That she regretted having us, and that's why she got ill.

"When I grew older I realized that the truth was that she was schizophrenic. The doctors recommended putting her in a permanent hospital, but my father wouldn't let them. I'm not sure why but... I _think_ it was because he didn't want to be alone with my brother and me. Because... well, we frightened him. I don't think he could ever pinpoint why, but the feeling was always there, the nervous tension.

"Anyways, they live alone together, now that I've moved out. I wouldn't be surprised if he puts her in a home soon."

"Do you keep in touch with them at all?" asked John quietly. Gwen scoffed.

"No. They're happier that way, and so am I." Gwen shot a fierce glance at John, daring him to object. He didn't.

"And what about you John? What about your family?" she asked. Gwen attempted to, and succeeded in, keeping her tone calm and pleasant, but the tension could still be seen in her neck. John was observant enough to notice, but he didn't comment.

"My dad passed away a few years ago," he said, "While I was in Afghanistan. My mum is doing well enough. They'd already been divorced for years, so the blow didn't hit her too hard."

"And what about you? Are _you_ ok?" John shrugged, cutting up some of his steak as if to make a point about how little it affected him.

"I never did like my dad much. Alcoholic. I figure that's where Harry picked up the habit. He never... he never _hurt_ us, but he certainly wasn't very loving or paternal. He yelled at us sometimes when he was drunk off his ass, but that was it. My mum is very nice, and she always was, but she used to be so timid, because of him, ya know? She's doing better now but... she's moved away and we don't keep in touch very well. I think she and Harry keep in touch, but I don't know much else."

"Tell me about Harry."

"Well... she's finally trying to get off the drink, so... I'm doing my best, trying to support her. It's hard though. We used to be really close when we were kids, but it just... it faded. And then with the drinking... I couldn't... I couldn't..."

John sighed and shook his head a bit, trying to clear up his emotions. He didn't want to seem like an emotional sissy around Gwen. He wanted to say sorry for his lack of control, but first he had to _get_ some control.

"It's fine, don't worry about it," said Gwen, responding to his unspoken apology. John's head snapped up and he met her eyes with surprise. Suddenly he let out a loud, abrupt laugh. Gwen's brow crinkled.

"What?"

"You're doing that thing," he marveled, still grinning amusedly.

"Doing _what_ thing?" she asked, unsure whether she should be annoyed or happy that she'd made him laugh.

"That thing that Sherlock does. Answering my thoughts instead of what I've actually said."

"Oh." Gwen gave a light, mildly embarrassed chuckle. "Sorry."

"No it's alright," he assured kindly, taking a bite of his steak. "I like it. Just as long as you can't actually _read _my thoughts." Gwen laughed again, louder this time.

"No, I can't do that," she confirmed, a twinkle in her eye.

.-.

"Have a good date?"

Gwen had excused herself to take a shower. The sound of running water served as the background soundtrack for Sherlock and John's conversation.

"It was lovely," admitted John freely, "I really enjoyed myself tonight Sherlock."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it."

"Though it was a bit strange not to have the 'your place, my place' discussion since we already live together," joked John lightly. Sherlock chuckled along with his friend.

"Well, if you're planning on continuing any sort of _after_-date activities here, please refrain until I've fallen asleep." John gaped at Sherlock, surprised that his friend had made a joke about his sex life, and with such a straight face too. Calmly, Sherlock turned his head and stared John directly in the eye.

After only a few seconds, they both broke out in huge smiles, and John couldn't suppress a small giggle.

"I'll keep that in mind, thanks," replied John. Standing up from his armchair, John groaned and stretched a bit. "Well, I'm off to bed."

"_Alone_," he added quickly as he saw Sherlock opening his mouth, likely with some snarky comment already on his tongue. Sherlock snickered but closed his mouth and nodded, still smirking. John rolled his eyes, but couldn't help smiling as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom.


	11. Chapter 11

_Author's note: Thank you for reading! Please please review. Great big thanks to all that already have. The support for this story has been wonderful. Enjoy!_

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><p>"Lestrade, what's interesting about this one?" asked Sherlock, staring perplexedly at the broken body on the pavement. The dead man was in his mid-30s, about 5'11" and lean, had pale skin and short brown hair (now mingled with dried blood), and he was sprawled indelicately on the ground where he had landed after jumping off his roof. "Clearly it was a suicide. Why are you wasting my time?"<p>

"Because," said Lestrade heavily, "There was a suicide note."

"And?"

"_And_... I think you're gonna want to read it."

Sherlock turned to follow the DI inside, where the evidence had all been sealed into plastic bags. Spinning back around, he addressed John, who was kneeling by the body.

"John. Keep examining the body and keep a lookout for Gwen."

"Got it," John called back as Sherlock strutted into the house.

Lestrade strode over to a table and picked up one bag, pulling out its contents with his gloved hands. Passing the paper into Sherlock's similarly gloved hands, Lestrade said,

"The case _looks_ like a clear suicide, and technically he _did_ leave a note, but I don't feel that it all fits together. The note is so... Well it doesn't make any sense to _me_. Do you understand what it means?"

Sherlock's eyes scanned the paper, and he muttered the text aloud. The note ran thus:

_One Sunday afternoon by the park, one old couple they said we all eventually someday will undoubtedly, assuredly die. So just then I decided: I'll jump and come to the after, that for you He guaranteed. Watch me fly. Your pity can't back me up now._

"You're right..." he murmured thoughtfully, "This was a murder, not a suicide. There's some sort of... hidden message in this note. But for _who_? And what's the code?..."

Suddenly Lestrade and Sherlock heard John's voice drifting through the door. He was speaking very loudly, urgently, but they couldn't make out his words. Sharing a bewildered look, the DI and consulting detective rushed outside. Sherlock stopped cold as he observed the scene in front of him.

There stood John, struggling to keep a firm hold on Gwen's arms. Her eyes were glued to the corpse and she wasn't making any sound, but her skin was pale and glistening and she was clearly trying to lash out physically.

"It's al_right_, Gwen!" said John, "Please, calm down, you're going to be alright. Shh, come on, come here, it's alright."

Finally having gotten a grip on the crazed young woman, John pulled her (still struggling) into his chest, wrapping his strong arms around her back and holding her tightly. After a moment, Gwen's fight disappeared and she simply stayed put, trembling in the confines of John's arms. Sherlock crossed the lawn in a few quick—_long_—steps to stand by John's side.

"What's going on? What happened?" demanded Sherlock quietly. John shot him a gentle glare, making it clear that he wanted Sherlock to shut up. Sherlock scowled but nodded his head sharply. Feeling a tug at his coat, Sherlock turned to Lestrade in surprise. Tucking his hands in his pockets, Lestrade nodded towards the victim's house and headed back in. Sherlock trailed reluctantly after him. Standing in the doorway, he stole out last look at John with his arms wrapped comfortingly around Gwen's shaking body, before he vanished inside.

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><p>With a tired sigh, John plopped down onto the armchair in their flat.<p>

"She's in my bedroom now," said John quietly, glancing up at his friend who was pacing the room. "I doubt she's sleeping though. She looks as though she's still in shock."

"Tell me exactly what happened, John."

"Right well... she clearly knew the victim. She got out of the cab and started to explain how she'd only just gotten your text when she saw the body. She went absolutely silent and her eyes were completely fixated on him, not even blinking. Her hands started twitching and she stumbled towards him, then backwards again. Her arms started... jerking sporadically. It was rather frightening actually. It looked like she was having some sort of... fit. That's when I went to her and tried to calm her down. Then you and Lestrade came outside and saw the rest."

"This is the second victim in a row that Gwen has known personally. So. It's not an accident then. Someone is specifically trying to scare Gwen. Or warn her."

"Warn her _what_?"

Sherlock fixed his best friend with a grim look.

"That she's up next."

* * *

><p>Gwen stared up at the ceiling in John's bedroom. Her limbs were all trembling slightly, the nerves having been stretched and snapped like the strings of Sherlock's precious violin.<p>

Speaking of which, was that his violin playing softly downstairs? Yes, it was. Gwen shut her eyes, trying to let the music soak into her skin and soothe her, as it normally did. It had no such effect. Gwen's burning mind raced furiously, twisting the melody cruelly in her ears so that it sounded more akin to a dirge than the lighthearted tune that it actually was.

Gwen's eyes shot open again and she stared at the ceiling once more, deciding to count the lines in order to block out her incessant, screaming, nauseating thoughts.

_One, two, three, four, what's the worst part of this situation?, five, six, seven, is it the fact that I'm the cause of two innocent people's deaths?, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, or is it the fear of losing my own life?, thirteen, fifteen-no fourteen, now fifteen, or is it not knowing who will die next?, sixteen, seventeen, how can I protect them if I don't know who will be targeted?, seventeen, wait- sixteen?, no- eighteen now, I never thought that Mr. T would... Stop it Gwen. The ceiling. Focus on the ceiling. What number was I at?_

Suddenly Gwen's eyes were blurred and she couldn't make out the lines on the ceiling any longer. For all of a second she feared that she was going blind... until she made the connection and understood- she was crying. Those were tears fogging up her eyesight. What a strange thing. She couldn't even remember the last time that she'd cried. What a strange notion...

Squeezing her eyes, Gwen let the tears flow freely down her cheeks. The wet streaks down her face were somehow comforting in that they felt different and uncomfortable. Anything uncomfortable was good: it kept her mind off of more dire matters.

"Gwen?"

The girl ignored the tentative voice. In fact, John was not even sure if she'd heard him. Taking a quiet seat next to her on the bed, John reached out a hesitant hand. When she still did not react in any way, he brushed his cool fingers against her warm forehead. He tenderly brushed the stray hairs off her face before continuing to stroke her hair soothingly.

"Gwen? You'll be alright, I promise you. I reckon there's nowhere safer in London than with Sherlock and I. We'll never let anything happen to you. You're completely protected here. Alright? I promise. I promise."

Gwen's mouth opened and her face scrunched a bit as she tried to speak. Clearly she was having trouble. John waited patiently. Finally, she closed her mouth, licked her lips and tried again.

"My fault." It was barely more than a whisper, but John's attentive ears caught it. A growth of sympathy sprouted in the pit of his stomach and he quickly moved so that he was lying directly next to Gwen on the bed. Gently he reached out and turned her face towards him. She shifted so that she was lying on her side, facing him. Her eyes numbly met his and he shook his head slowly and firmly.

"It is _not_ your fault," he assured hoarsely. "There are crazy people in the world, but you are not accountable for their actions. Don't think for one moment that any of this was your fault. You are... incredible, and beautiful, and... one of the _kindest_... people I've ever known."

At his words, Gwen's jaw quivered briefly. Squeezing her eyes shut, fresh tears streamed down her damp cheeks and pained sounds emitted from the back of her throat, as though she was attempting—and failing—to stifle them. John traced her face lovingly with his fingers, wishing with all his might that he could take away her pain. Having no better solution, he leaned forward and rested his forehead gently against her own. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he held her close in perfect silence as she cried long into the night.

As she remained in the embrace of the man who cared so deeply about her, Gwen's mind began to settle. The tears maintained a steady trickle down the tracks on her face, but her nerves had begun to calm down and she felt more at peace. The drifting sounds of Sherlock's violin were still floating up from the downstairs, and now she _was_ comforted by the melodies. The notes soared sweetly in the air, sending waves of brightness and joy up through the floor, tickling Gwen with their light, teasing fingers. Smiling, Gwen closed her eyes and faded into sleep, surrounded by the warmth of John's presence and Sherlock's music.


	12. Chapter 12

_Author's note: Thanks for reading. I now have a relatively firm idea of where I want to go with this story. I say relatively because I am always changing my mind. Ah well. Please review! Thanks so much._

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><p>The next morning, Gwen opened her eyes to see the ex-army doctor looking right back at her. She smiled gently, already perfectly awake.<p>

"Good morning Gwen," he greeted.

"Same to you, Dr. Watson," she murmured back, enjoying the playful glare that he shot her even as he smiled.

"How are you feeling?" he asked concernedly.

"Better. Thanks."

"Shall I go make us some breakfast?"

"That would be lovely. I'll just... shower." Planting a delicate kiss on Gwen's forehead, John climbed out of bed and exited the room. Gwen listened as he tromped down the stairs.

_How domestic we are_... she thought with an amused smile. Quickly she jumped out of bed herself and stripped down, only to pause, fully in the naked. She'd forgotten that her bathing robe was downstairs. Opening John's closet, she soon found his robe and wrapped it around herself instead. Holding the loose fabric tight around her, Gwen made her way to the bathroom. Just as she was about to yank the door open, it was thrown open from the inside. In her path stood a very surprised, wet, tall, gorgeous man with pale skin, a well-built body, black hair flattened by the moisture, eyes that had widened an unusual amount, and—luckily—a towel wrapped around his lower half.

"Oh, well, I'm... sorry," she fumbled awkwardly, attempting to pull the bathrobe even tighter around her body. Gwen could see the tension lacing through his body as he stood still, clenching the door handle tighter.

Not speaking a word, Sherlock brushed past her, walking calmly towards his own bedroom. Tearing her eyes away from his retreating figure, Gwen blushed and hurried into the bathroom, trying to tell herself that it was no big deal, that it was in fact a shock that a situation such as this one had not occurred already during her stay. But these logical evaluations did nothing to erase the picture from her mind or the heat from her cheeks.

When Gwen finished her morning rinse, she put on the spare set of clothes which she kept stored in the bathroom and made her way downstairs, where she found John and breakfast waiting for her at the table.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was now dressed in his usual casual attire and playing his violin beautifully. Upon spotting Gwen, he set the instrument down and strutted quickly to her, thrusting a piece of paper into her hands.

"What does it mean?"

"For goodness sake Sherlock, she's only just come down. Let it sit a minute," protested John.

"No, it's fine John," she assured, "Work helps to... distract me." John stayed quiet, though he still clearly did not approve. Sherlock, however, smiled at Gwen, grateful that she understood. Nodding, she glanced down at the paper.

It was the suicide note. Her eyes flew over the words quickly, and then she paused. Sherlock and John could both see the cogs in her mind whirling. After a moment, she glanced back down at the paper, her eyes skimming the page more slowly, carefully.

"Well? It is meant for you, isn't it? What does it say?" Sherlock finally asked. Gwen's head slowly came up, and it was clear from the haunted look in her eyes that she understood the message perfectly. Sherlock waited impatiently, practically bouncing in his excited anticipation.

"I can't... tell you," she finally mustered. Sherlock nearly exploded.

"But you can _read _it! Tell me what it says! I'll have Lestrade arrest you for obstruction of justice, I swear it. Tell me what it means. _Who is doing this_?"

"Sherlock!" cried John. Sherlock's head snapped to his friend, who was rising from the table. "Calm _down_, Sherlock."

"She is withholding crucial information, John," seethed Sherlock, "I _must_ know what the note says or we'll never solve the case."

"Listen to me," demanded Gwen. Both men turned to look at her, surprised by her commanding tone. "I _can't_ tell you. Yes I can read it, but I know you could too if you really tried, and it'll only make it worse if I reveal it to you. Like you said Sherlock, this case is aimed at both of us. Not just me. You've got to do this one on your own." Gwen shoved the paper back into a silent Sherlock's hands. "Now excuse me, I need to get some air."

The door shuddered closed behind her and the two men were left staring blankly at each other.

"She does that a lot," commented Sherlock lightly. John rolled his eyes.

"Clearly she's distressed. There _has_ been quite a bit going on. Do you think I ought to go after her?" Sherlock shot John a look. "Right, sorry. You have no idea, so why on earth should I ask you? Well, you at least should get to work on that note."

"Obviously," replied Sherlock in a clipped tone, throwing in an empty smirk as he flung himself down onto the couch, holding the paper above him as he studied it intently.

"I suppose I'll... go get the groceries then," announced John loudly. He was rather unsurprised when Sherlock didn't answer, already too absorbed in his work. Shaking his head—already wondering what sorts of things Sherlock would say out loud without realizing John wasn't home anymore—John grabbed his coat and wallet, and headed out.

* * *

><p>About an hour later found John plucking a bar of soap off a shelf at the store and dropping it into his cart. Suddenly he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.<p>

_Come home immediately. Very important. –SH_

Accustomed to Sherlock's urgent way of texting about the most ordinary things, John rolled his eyes and typed out a short reply.

_*Still shopping. It'll keep. –JW*_

Another vibration.

_NOW John. The shopping is unimportant._

_*Alright, I'm almost done, hold on. I'll be back in 15 mins.*_

_10._

_*I can't make the journey 5 minutes shorter just because you want it that way Sherlock. Just wait. Learn patience.*_

John could practically hear Sherlock scoffing condescendingly as he read the text, finding it too ridiculous even to reply to. He grinned when there were no more vibrations, therefore proving his hypothesis most likely correct.

About twenty minutes later, John strolled back into their flat at 221B under the weight of several grocery bags.

"_Late_ John. Ten... minutes... late."

"_Five_ minutes late," corrected John immediately, "I _told_ you it would be fifteen minutes. And then there was traffic."

"Yes well _I_ said _ten_."

"The laws of the universe don't actually bend to your will Sherlock, despite all evidence to the contrary. Now since you clearly won't be helping me put all this away, will you at least tell me what you wanted me back for?"

Finally a spark reappeared in Sherlock's eyes, though his expression was grim. Rushing over to the coffee table, he grabbed the suicide note. Strutting back into the kitchen, he held the note up triumphantly.

"I've deciphered it."

"Ah! Good. What's it say then?"

"God! I don't know how it could have taken me so long..."

"Sherlock, it only took you an hour-"

"...but I've done it, and now at least the mystery begins to lessen."

"...And?"

"It's a code, John. I tried reading it all different ways. Backwards, skipping every other word, taking the first letter of each word, so on. Finally I did it. Here, listen to the note again. _'One Sunday afternoon by the park, one old couple they said we all eventually someday will undoubtedly, assuredly die. So just then I decided: I'll jump and come to the after, that for you He guaranteed. Watch me fly. Your pity can't back me up now.' _Don't you hear how disjointed it all is? Some of the words just don't fit in, and certainly they don't fit _together_. It's as if someone inserted words randomly into the sentences."

"Alright, so what's the code?"

"Every _third_ word, John. You read only every third word." Sherlock looked down at the paper once more, reading it aloud slowly, this time skipping two words after each word spoken. "'One by one they all will die. Then I'll come after you. Watch your back now.' That's what the note says to the person meant to read it, John."

"And that person... is Gwen?" said John in amazement. "But... why? Why her?" Sherlock looked his friend sadly in the eye.

"I don't know John. And somehow I doubt that she'll be willing to tell us."

"Does she even know her_self_ why she's a target?"

"Oh absolutely. She knows the person who wrote this note; otherwise she wouldn't have known the code. It must be an established code between them. The question is... why would someone who used to be close to Gwen now be coming after her? They're clearly targeting people she knows... John, did she ever tell you her relation to that man?"

"No," admitted John, "I didn't want to ask about it right away."

"Well as soon as she gets back we'll have to find out. Perhaps then we can establish some sort of pattern that the killer is following..."

* * *

><p>When night fell and Gwen still had not returned, Sherlock scowled and turned to John (sitting calmly in his armchair, reading) in the midst of his frantic pacing.<p>

"Where is she?"

"I'm sure she'll be back."

Another two hours passed and it was past eleven o'clock. Irritated beyond belief, Sherlock pulled out his phone and brought up a new test and addressed it to Gwen's number, one of only three numbers on his phone.

_You're needed at home, now. –SH _

He held the phone in his hand, tapping it impatiently for a minute before it rang out. He flipped it open.

_*I know. Almost there. –G* _

Sherlock dropped the phone onto the coffee table and plopped down in the armchair across from John, his feet and fingers all bouncing anxiously. A few minutes later, John and Sherlock heard footsteps coming up the stairway.

"Where have you been?" demanded Sherlock as soon as Gwen entered.

"I had some errands to run," she replied vaguely, "Hello John."

"Welcome back!"

"Tell us," cut in Sherlock briskly. "How'd you know him? The victim."

"Mr. T taught at my school," Gwen revealed quietly. Leaving Sherlock momentarily satisfied as he absorbed the new information and began to make his own conclusions, she took a second to settle herself down on the couch so she could tell them the rest. "I imagine that he was chosen as a target because... well I fancied him. For a couple of years. We never... I mean, I never even told him... But they knew. And so they killed him."

"Oh Gwen..." murmured John sympathetically, immediately taking a seat beside her on the couch so he could wrap his arm comfortingly around her shoulders, rubbing her arm soothingly. Gwen was relieved at his presence, because as much as she struggled to restrain her emotions, they were rather overwhelming. The absolute despair... It was so unfair, after all. Mr. T hadn't even known that she liked him. But still he was murdered. And it was all her fault...

"_Who_ knew?" Gwen fixed the consulting detective with a maternal stare.

"Haven't we gone over this Sherlock? I can't tell you."

"I think that's enough for tonight," said John sharply, "Let's all get some rest. We can come back to the case tomorrow."

Sherlock gritted his teeth as his stomach turned over nauseatingly. As he perceived it, his best friend had become so attached to this young girl that he was now turning on Sherlock, choosing her side over his. Without another word Sherlock stomped off to his bedroom, leaving Gwen and John rather shocked, unaware what had gotten him riled up. They had no way of knowing that Sherlock felt as though his entire world was slipping away, as though the only precious person in the universe was drifting away from him. They had no way of knowing that Sherlock's heart was breaking as he observed his best friend choose another over himself. They had no way of knowing how greatly Sherlock truly feared being left alone, friendless and unloved, abandoned by the one person of greatest importance in his life.


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's Note: Sorry about the horribly long wait everybody. Thanks so much to everyone still loyal to this series! For anyone just now watching the second season, message me with thoughts, I'm very interested. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this latest-short-installment._

* * *

><p>Gwen sat erect on the couch, unable to sleep despite the late hour. John and Sherlock were already both fast asleep in their respective bedrooms, but Gwen remained conscious downstairs. John had offered for her to move up into his room with him but she had delicately refused, unable to take that step just yet, as nice as it sounded.<p>

Gazing at the wall, Gwen hardly noticed the flash of car headlights outside the window, and she certainly thought nothing of it- at least until her phone vibrated on the table where it lay. Picking it up, Gwen saw that the number was withheld. The text read:

_I look forward to meeting you_.

A smile twitched onto her face as she quickly understood, her gaze immediately snapping to the window through which she could barely make out the headlights below. Standing abruptly, Gwen tucked her phone into the pocket of her pajama pants and swiftly made her way out of the 221B flat.

Waiting just outside the door was a sleek black car. The passenger door swung open from the inside and Gwen got in without hesitation. Sitting there was a tan woman with black wavy hair and styled nails on the fingers that clutched a phone in front of her face.

The woman flashed Gwen a polite closed-lip smile as Gwen entered the vehicle, but then turned back to her mobile. Feeling no particular desire to make conversation, Gwen contented herself to stare out the darkened window as the car rolled smoothly down the streets. When they came to a halt some twenty minutes later, the woman turned to Gwen, finally acknowledging her presence with words.

"Just go on out and into the building there, the door's been left open. He said you wouldn't need to be escorted in, so you'll just be going on your own."

"Great, thanks," replied Gwen emotionlessly. The woman gave another smile, even throwing in a small wave as Gwen opened the door and began to step out.

"Bye! Good luck," said the woman in a subdued but cheery manner. Gwen merely nodded and swung the door shut behind her, heading straight into the building as directed.

The building itself was dark (understandably, given the time of night), but Gwen sensed it was more than that. The building was no longer in use, though this hadn't been the case for long because it was still in tip-top shape. Most notably, the building was quite clearly an elementary school. Gwen scanned her memory for any recently closed-up elementary schools, but she didn't really keep track of such things. Her ignorance prickled her as it always did, and she knew that upon arriving home she'd have to do extensive research on the subject just to feel satisfied.

The doorway through which she had entered led straight into what appeared to be the main hallway, and Gwen immediately spotted the figure about halfway down said hallway, so she made her way to him.

Mycroft Holmes looked just how she'd pictured him in her mind. His tall lanky figure similar to that of Sherlock, the same dark hair (though kept differently), and the same self-assured air. He was dressed in a nice suit and tie, something much more formal than Sherlock would wear by choice. He stood clutching an umbrella in his right hand, leaning against it like a cane.

"I was almost becoming insulted by your lack of interest in me," said Gwen loudly. A smirk played on Mycroft's lips.

"Yes, it is certainly regrettable that this face-to-face meeting is so long overdue. I'm afraid these past few months have found me somewhat... busy."

As "busy" passed Mycroft's lips, Gwen could not help but to chuckle at the obvious understatement in his words.

"I have, of course, already observed you... on the cameras. You are a very... important person, Miss...?"

Gwen sensed the trick in his words. Smiling innocently, she replied,

"Just call me Gwen, and I'll call you Mycroft."

Mycroft smirked again, apparently pleased that she hadn't given him a last name. They both knew that even if she had it would have been false, but even a false name can be telling about the person that chose it.

"As you wish. Now as you may imagine, I was somewhat... taken aback, I suppose you could say, when my brother rashly decided to allow you to live at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock seems to have changed quite a lot recently, as a matter of fact. He's become more... trusting, and perhaps- no, almost undoubtedly, also become more sentimental, a sure sign of vulnerability. First there was Dr. Watson, and now you."

Mycroft paused, observing the young woman. She held her silence. Allowing no thoughts to flicker across his face, he continued.

"I worry about him."

"So I hear."

"And though I overcame my misgivings about Dr. Watson, I find this harder to do in regards to you. What is it that you want from Sherlock?"

"Why do you assume that I want anything? Perhaps I just enjoy his company." Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

"I must admit, I find that story a bit hard to swallow. No, you are not sentimental enough for that to ring true. Neither is my brother, which brings me to conclude that you are both using the other and I believe I can guess in what ways, but I thought it was only polite to allow you the chance to give, let's say... your side of the story."

"I assure you, I'd be much more interested to hear your observations," replied Gwen with mock politeness. Or at least, Mycroft was fairly sure that it was mock. Gwen was particularly good at keeping a straight face. It was her own brand of humor, though usually she was her only intended audience.

"I believe that you aspire to be like my brother, and so you have determined the way to best accomplish this goal is by studying him at close distance, like a bug under a microscope."

"Now that's hardly a fair comparison to make, calling your brother a bug."

"Quite true, for I do not think of my brother in such a way."

Here Gwen observed a noticeable shift in Mycroft's features. What had been polite banter was morphing into restrained threatening. She could see the seriousness spelled out in his face, the deathly serious look that promised severe pain or death for anyone foolish enough to cross him.

"It is you that I think sees him in this way. But let me warn you, my brother possesses abilities beyond your capacity of reckoning and he shall never be the bug that you may step on. I have observed you, and while it is true that you yourself possess some of the finer qualities shared by my brother and myself, you are not as clever as you think you are. Should you ever think of betraying Sherlock in any way possible, it will be a dear mistake, _that _I can guarantee. Before you have time to blink, Sherlock will turn the tables on you and _you_ will be the bug, to be squashed at whim. And this is a kindness which my brother will obliviously afford you. However... If you should think to cross my brother, or bring harm to him in any manner, my punishment for you will be much more... deliberate. Do you fully understand me?"

Mycroft's words spun tauntingly in her head, jabbing her harshly and burning her with their threats. Not as clever as she thought? Treating Sherlock like a bug? Even through her whirling thoughts, Gwen could not help an internal chuckle in appreciation of Mycroft's impressive gift of understatement. The term "deliberate" did not sound threatening, but the way it slid through his teeth made it clear what he meant, and she did not even want to imagine the horrors he would be willing to permit done upon her.

Masking these fears and insecurities, Gwen gave a tight smile.

"Then it's a good thing I don't plan on crossing Sherlock in any way. I'm only too grateful for the opportunity he has given me to share close quarters with him; I have no plans to ruin that ideal situation."

"Good..." Mycroft drew the word out, smiling even as his head tilted back to examine the young woman in front of him. "For now I will leave you to your own devices; but heed this warning: everything you think we do not know about you, be assured... we do. Tread carefully."

With these last words of warning, Mycroft swung his umbrella up and strutted away towards the back of the school. Frozen in place behind him was Gwen.

His words had sent chills up her spine, and her heart was hammering painfully in her chest. What had he meant? Was he merely trying to scare her, what with him being the "Big Brother" and all that (in more ways than one)? Or did he truly know the secret which she had been struggling so hard to keep hidden. And if he did, did that mean that Sherlock also knew? A part of her couldn't believe that Sherlock could possibly know such a thing and do nothing about it, but stranger things had happened, and Sherlock never ceased to surprise her.

Clenching her jaw, Gwen determined that there was nothing she could do, either way. In the back of her mind she stored her paranoia of being murdered by Mycroft or his men without warning some random day, and she instead focused on getting back home. With stiff movements, she made her way back to the front of the school, finding Mycroft's escort waiting for her.

The black car drove her back to 221B in silence. Getting out, Gwen made no response to the last "goodbye" given to her by the nameless tan face.

Up the stairs she tromped, as quietly as she could, so that neither John nor Sherlock would ever have to know about her meet with Mycroft. This was something she also wanted to keep a secret.

Gwen tried to lie down and calm her nerves, but her eyes continually shifted towards the window, positive that a bullet would come crashing through the glass at any moment and into her skull.

But it didn't.

Her restlessness becoming too much to bear, she jumped to her feet and walked quickly to her suitcase, throwing open the lid. From inside she drew out a small knife, one very familiar to her by now.

She took a step back, and rolled up her sleeves.


End file.
